Mr and Mrs Proletarian,
together with young Master and Miss
Proletarian, eagerly awaited the coming of
Commissar Christmas. They had all sent their messages to NoPocol
(North Pole
Collective) to let the Commissar
know what they wanted. The messages had gone
out in good time
because, as everyone living in collectivist
paradise knows,
the redistribution of presents doesn’t happen
overnight. The Commissar and his
army of
spetsnelf kommandos need time to confiscate the presents of counter-
revolutionaries,
reactionaries, kulaks
and other enemies of the revolution. Perhaps they would
intercept
Father Christmas, that running dog, paper
reindeer capitalist, and
pinch, sorry, liberate UNA presents too. Then
all the party members have to take their
pick before the ordinary comrades get the left overs, sorry, their equal
share.
Soon Mr and Mrs Proletarian
would get the word to go to the
distribution centre with all their neighbours.
They
would wait their turn in the queue, as is tradition. Tea would be served
from the festive samovar and if they
were lucky they would maybe get a small
celebratory vodka. A car
carrying the Hierarchs would drive by and
hopefully
they would be able to catch a glimpse of the guardians of the
people. They
probably wouldn’t, but
they were ever optimistic. The Hierarchs were always
very busy and it
was good of them to come out and see
the comrades at
Christmas.
Then Commissar Christmas
would arrive in the magic Soundouk. He
and all his spetsnelves would leap into
action. There was no time to waste; everyone was listening for their
number to be
called. If you missed your
turn you would have to wait until next year. Yes, Christmas in the Red
Blok was definitely the best. Or so they had
been told.